Personal Space Is Overrated
by ThingsThatNeedThings
Summary: 'BBC Sherlock' JohnxSherlock fanfiction. John gets interrupted in the shower, and he doesn't mind at all.


**Personal Space is Overrated**

SherlockxJohn

(BBC Sherlock)

John dropped his boxers and opened the shower door, stepping in, feeling the cold plastic on his heels and cringing, already dreading that first rush of cold water. He turned the knob up to top heat, and then let the water flow. He gasped as it ran cold, but stood still all the same. He was a soldier still – a little frozen water could not shake him. Soon he felt his skin begin to steam as the hot met the cold and he felt it burn hot and he smiled.

His muscles shimmered, wet, and as he grinned he was proud of his body. He had worked hard, and he was a strong man. Maybe he had only been a doctor out there, but he had fought and the scars of war still stayed with him. They gave him hope – hope that no matter what happened, he could continue.

_For Sherlock_, he told himself, with a resolute nod. If it hadn't been for Sherlock he felt like he would have turned to alcohol a long time ago, to repress that desperate craving for danger and excitement with clouded memories and accidental sex. He had never wanted to end up like Harry, but in the days before he met his curly-haired detective, he had considered frequenting the bars and drowning his desires in bottles. He had a lot to thank Holmes for, and he knew he owed him so much for all he had done.

Even if he did put heads in the fridge and get himself into all sorts of trouble and cock-block John with any girlfriend he might be lucky enough to find and drag him around London and insult his intelligence and flirt with him in front of the Yard's men.

John didn't care. Sherlock was the best friend, colleague, _partner_ he had ever had, and it was true that John loved him for it.

Watson shook his head suddenly as he tried to snap out of his dazed reminiscing (realising just in time that his hands were roaming over his own body) and grabbed the shower gel, lathering himself quickly and watching the suds smother him. It felt as though his muscles were even tighter now since he'd been with Sherlock, which was no surprise to John. Sherlock always gave him a run for his money, and, following the metaphor, John was broke but he didn't care – money couldn't buy passion.

(Sex, yes, but John would never have turned to prostitutes – besides, no one could be better than Sherlock.)

He listened to the sound of the water, the way it cascaded down, down, down and then exploded into smaller droplets against his skin and clung to him before sliding away almost regretfully. But then he heard something else: distant, mumbling, manly.

"Lestrade, isn't the paperclip evidence enough?" Sherlock cursed down the phone as he paced the staircase. "It's so obvious! … Well, that's only because you're not really observing, isn't it? Have you been talking to Anderson?"

John chuckled slightly, not even trying to follow Sherlock's logic. He was certain that if he did his tall friend would be correct on every single detail, except maybe one irrelevant one. He would have trusted Sherlock if he'd told him that a murder had been committed with a cloud, because John knew that Sherlock would have all the evidence and reasoning before he could even ask how the hell a cloud could throttle someone.

Suddenly the door opened. John froze.

Sherlock strode in, phone still to his ear but smiling seductively at John through the mist of the heat.  
>"Lestrade, you're bothering me, and I have better things to do," he spoke, and then before the DI could understand what he'd said (or even catch his intentions) Sherlock ended the call.<p>

"Ever heard of personal space?" John accused, turning his manhood away from Sherlock's prying eyes.

"Overrated," Sherlock muttered.

John watched with wide eyes as Sherlock began to unbutton his shirt, tossing it to the ground without a care, focused on John's naked body. His belt dropped to the floor, along with his trousers.

Along with his boxers.

John shut his eyes but he could feel his arousal protesting, desperate to look. Sherlock's hard erection was irresistible to John and he gazed longingly.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and stepped to the shower door, opening it, stepping in, wrapping his arms around John's waist and rubbing himself against John's behind. Watson struggled to stop his knees from collapsing as Sherlock massaged his hip with one wandering hand, feeling Sherlock's member teasing around his rear.

"Sh-Sherlock," he managed.

"You like it hot, don't you," Sherlock whispered, indulging in the heat of the shower and John's body.

John curled his hands into fists and tried to breath, but it only came out in pants. He could feel Sherlock's satisfied smile, pressing him into submission as he pushed himself closer and into John.

John groaned as he felt Sherlock moving deeper into him, unable to stand up straight as Sherlock bent him over, the water striking hard on his thin back. He kissed John's neck feverishly and was met with gasps of pleasure as he thrusted himself into John over and over, his mind racing with sex and arousal and tension.

John clutched himself in a futile attempt to remain in control of his own body, but there was no chance. He felt Sherlock's teeth graze against his neck, felt Sherlock's legs against his thighs, hot water trickling down his body, hands roaming his crotch.

He tipped his head and started to moan when-

"John, wait," Sherlock commanded. "Hold it."

John drew a sharp breath and then quickly clamped his jaw, squeezing his legs together. "I can't," he hissed.

"Just a few… more seconds…" Sherlock panted, and thrust himself again then groaned loudly as he felt himself release _inside _of John. John blacked out in an instant, then woke up and jerked, hearing Sherlock's laughter, and he too let himself go.

Sherlock eased back and put his hands on his hips, panting, grinning, proud of his little experiment.

"You should clean yourself up," he told John breathlessly, and opened the shower door, wrapped himself in a towel and left.

John rested his head on the wall. "Fuck," he breathed. "That was… insane." He chuckled. "But Sherlock was right… Personal space is overrated..."


End file.
